Chapter 391: For Upon the Walls of Frostgrave, Only Steel Remembers

[Evrard’s POV]

After the preemptive force managed to destroy only two Nightbloom Spawners before being forced to retreat with Captain Zarrick gravely wounded, the mood inside the meeting chamber had grown grim.

Captain Zarrick’s hand had already been treated with a healing spell. Unfortunately, there was nothing that could be done to reattach the severed hand.

The healers had attempted it several times, yet for some inexplicable reason, the flesh simply refused to mend together as it normally should, as though something lingering within the wound itself was actively preventing the healing magic from taking effect.

Still, despite being told to rest, Captain Zarrick still insisted on being present within the meeting chamber.

Anyway....

Seeing how disastrously the attack had failed, Lord Evrard had already ordered Commander Fajarn to deploy the reserve companies and city watch to begin evacuating the civilians toward the southern districts.

’Thirteen left... and barely two hours until nightfall,’ he thought, his expression growing increasingly grim.

At this rate, there was no longer any question of eliminating the remaining Nightbloom Spawners before darkness fell.

The only thing they could do now was prepare for what would come once night finally descended upon Frostgrave.

Drawing a slow breath, Lord Evrard swept his gaze across every officer gathered within the meeting chamber.

"I have just received confirmation from the Golden Fortune Corporation. The reinforcements that kid requested have accepted our call for aid, and according to their message, they should reach Frostgrave within the next hour. Until then, we are on our own. Whatever comes after nightfall, we must hold this fortress for that first hour. No matter the cost."

"What about the Royal Army? Any words from them?" Scoutmaster Givard asked, a faint trace of hope still lingering in his voice.

Lord Evrard slowly shook his head.

"No. They have yet to respond."

"Tch." Captain Zarrick grunted.

The already oppressive mood inside the chamber sank even further.

None of them were truly surprised, yet hearing the answer spoken aloud still struck harder than expected.

’It seems placing our hopes elsewhere rather than relying solely upon the Royal Army was the wiser course. That decision may very well have spared us from a far worse predicament.’

And to think it had been that scholar’s timely suggestion that gave Frostgrave another lifeline to rely upon...

Lord Evrard let out a slow, weary sigh.

The failed assault had undoubtedly worsened their situation, but Lord Evrard had no intention of allowing that failure to poison the rest of the fortress.

Whatever had happened outside the northern walls was already done. Dwelling on it now would only weaken the men further.

Fortunately, the reinforcements from the nearest northern garrisons under their allied houses had already arrived and were being folded into Frostgrave’s remaining defenses.

Because of that, Lord Evrard was reasonably confident that they would be able to hold the fortress for at least an hour until the Golden Fortune Corporation’s reinforcements arrived.

But still, regarding the Black Revenant...

That thing remained their highest-priority threat.

Because of that creature, they had almost lost Captain Zarrick, and thirteen Nightbloom Spawners still remained standing beyond the northern walls.

If the Black Revenant appeared again during the main assault, there was no telling how badly it could disrupt their defensive lines.

Tonight’s defense would be an uphill battle, perhaps one fought heavily against the odds, but despair would accomplish nothing.

Lord Evrard sighed inwardly.

If they were going to survive the coming night, then every man in this room needed his mind fixed on what came next.

Slowly straightening in his seat, Lord Evrard swept his gaze across the officers gathered around the chamber before finally speaking.

"Nightfall is approaching, and once those creatures begin spawning their brood, the battle will become far worse than anything we faced this afternoon. Which is why we will now discuss every measure available to us for tonight’s—"

Knock. Knock.

The sudden sound against the chamber door interrupted him halfway through his words.

Lord Evrard frowned deeply. Then, with a trace of irritation crossing his face, he turned his gaze toward the entrance.

Whoever stood outside should have known that a military council was currently underway, and unless the matter was truly urgent, the chamber was not to be disturbed under any circumstance.

’What now?’

After a brief silence, Lord Evrard finally gave a curt nod toward one of the guards stationed beside the wall.

"Open it."

The guard obeyed at once.

And the moment the heavy wooden door swung inward, the irritation on Lord Evrard’s face disappeared.

His eyes widened slightly.

"Huh?"

Standing beyond the doorway was his daughter. And beside her was none other than Ruvian Castelor.

At that moment, Lord Evrard found himself momentarily at a loss for words. His gaze moved between the two young scholars as they calmly stepped into the chamber.

Why were they here?

He had already given his knights clear instructions to have the two of them evacuated away from Frostgrave.

They were supposed to have been sent somewhere safe, evacuated alongside the civilians. So why were they here?

But that was not even the strangest part.

Lord Evrard’s eyes slowly lowered, taking in their appearance from head to toe.

His expression stiffened.

They had not returned dressed as they had been before.

Instead, both of them were clad for battle.

Calyra wore a fitted black combat coat over a layer of lightweight enchanted armor, its dark fabric tailored closely enough that it would not hinder her movements.

Her usual long skirt was gone, replaced by dark fitted trousers tucked neatly into knee-high combat boots.

Beside her, Ruvian looked no less prepared.

His earlier formal attire had been replaced by a dark battle coat, with reinforced leather plating running across the chest and shoulders.

Beneath it was a fitted black tunic, accompanied by hardened gloves, combat trousers, and heavy boots.

From their clothing alone, their intentions were clear: they had come here fully expecting to take part in the defense of Frostgrave Fortress.

A mixture of disbelief and irritation crossed Lord Evrard’s face as he finally spoke.

"What exactly are the two of you doing here?"

Calyra and Ruvian exchanged a brief glance before answering almost simultaneously.

"We’re staying to defend Frostgrave." (+500PP)

Hearing the same answer leave both of their mouths at once, Lord Evrard fell silent for several seconds.

His expression slowly darkened.

But in the end, after a considerable amount of argument and reluctance from Lord Evrard, both Calyra and Ruvian were allowed to participate in the defense of the fortress — under the condition that Calyra would not be stationed anywhere near the battlefront.

As for Ruvian? Since Ruvian insisted on fighting at the front line, Lord Evrard eventually relented. His life was his own to risk if that was truly what he wished.

*****

[Ruvian’s POV]

By the time the meeting ended, Ruvian had been assigned to the Northern Front’s First Defense Company, one of the main units stationed directly along Frostgrave’s outer wall.

The company answered to Commander Fajarn, and its duty was simple enough: hold the northern wall when the first wave finally reached them.

It was exactly where Ruvian wanted to be.

Now, he stood among rows of armored knights and soldiers spread across the broad stone battlement, preparing for what would come.

The sun was already sinking behind the western mountains, staining the distant clouds in fading shades of orange and blood-red.

Beyond the battlement, the northern plains were slowly being swallowed by dusk, while the distant silhouettes of the corrupted growths became harder to make out against the darkening horizon.

’There is little time left.’

Below the wall, carts loaded with arrows, mana stones, spare weapons, and other supplies were still being hauled into position.

The entire northern section of Frostgrave had become a hive of grim activity.

Farther along the battlement, artillery crews were already preparing the fortress’s heavy weapons

"Second battery, raise your aim by three marks, I want the first volley landing before those creatures reach the outer field."

Artillery Captain Yselle’s voice rang sharply across the battlement.

"Yes, Captain!"

Ruvian watched the whole thing with a peculiar look on his face.

For a moment, it almost felt like he had stepped straight into one of those medieval war movies from his previous world.

’Hmm... what a strange feeling.’

Before Ruvian could dwell on the thought any longer, another series of commands rang out from farther down the wall.

The soldiers around him quickly straightened.

Commander Fajarn had arrived.

He soon climbed onto a raised section of the battlement where most of the northern companies could clearly see him.

His stern gaze swept across the crowded wall for several seconds.

Then, his voice thundered across the battlement, cutting cleanly through the clamor.

"Everyone. Let me have your attention for a moment."

Within seconds, hundreds of Frostgrave soldiers turned toward him, and the noise across the northern wall gradually died down.

Stealing a glance toward the highest section of the fortress, Ruvian spotted two familiar figures standing along the upper battlement.

Calyra and Lord Evrard were there as well, both watching Commander Fajarn in silence.

Once he had everyone’s attention, he finally began, grimly.

"Soldiers of Frostgrave, I know what every one of you is thinking. I know what fear has been gnawing at the back of your mind. After all, I am no different from you. I’m... afraid too. The horrors waiting beyond these walls are something truly dreadful. And we are fewer than we should be. When night falls, those cursed horrors will come for us in overwhelming numbers."

A heavy silence settled over the battlements.

"Some of you are afraid this fortress will fall tonight. And you know what? You have every damn reason to be. Death is waiting beyond those walls. The grave will be waiting with it. And before this night is over, it will come close enough for every man here to smell its rotten breath."

Commander Fajarn let those words linger.

His gaze swept across the soldiers before him, taking in their pale faces, clenched jaws, and hands gripping their weapons just a little tighter.

"But remember... horrors like this are nothing new to Frostgrave. The soldiers who stood upon these walls before us endured far worse during the Black Winter."

His voice grew heavier.

"Some of them had not slept for days. Some of them were forced to burn shattered carts just to keep themselves from freezing to death. Their fingers had split open from the cold, their blood freezing against their own skin. By that night, many could barely lift their swords, their bodies already failing them, yet the enemy kept coming."

Fajarn’s jaw tightened.

"Too many enemies, in fact. And they knew, with every shred of reason Goddess had given them, that they were going to die here."

His gaze swept across the battlements.

"And many did. The courageous died. The cowards died. Even the strongest among them died. Any sane man looking upon such a catastrophe would have called them doomed."

His fist tightened.

"And yet, what happened?

"Even after all that suffering, all that bloodshed, and every cruel certainty stacked against them... Frostgrave did not fall."

His voice hardened.

"Those doomed men held."

With a harsh scrape of steel, Commander Fajarn unsheathed his sword and raised it high above his head.

"So remember this, soldiers of Frostgrave. History has a cruel tendency to repeat itself. And tonight, whether you welcome it or dread it, we will walk in the same footsteps as those who stood upon these walls before us.

"By the blood spilled upon these stones, and by the honored names of Marchioness Alizée Arcanis and Lord Ryzak Ascarov, let no man here forget how the legacy of Frostgrave has always been written—"

Fajarn tightened his grip around the sword.

"—for upon the walls of Frostgrave, only steel remembers."

For a brief moment, no one spoke.

The soldiers stared at him with something different in their eyes now. The fear had not vanished, but beneath it burned something fiercer, something almost ravenous.

Men who had looked toward the northern plains expecting death were now gripping their weapons as though daring it to come.

What was there left to fear in death, when generations before them had already faced the same fate and made death itself pay dearly for every life it took?

And as that thought settled among them, fear slowly gave way to something older than reason.

Pride. Fury...

And the stubborn defiance of a mere mortal.

Fajarn saw it burning in their eyes.

"For Frostgrave..." he muttered under his breath, the words leaving him almost by instinct.

Then, with fierce conviction blazing across his face, he raised his sword higher toward the darkening sky.

"For Frostgrave!"

Commander Fajarn roared.

At once, the entire battlement erupted.

Hundreds of blades were ripped free from their sheaths in a deafening clash of steel, raised toward the darkening heavens as one.

"FOR FROSTGRAVE!!!"

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[Chapter 391: For Upon the Walls of Frostgrave, Only Steel Remembers]

Plot Points = 297,500